


on this night our brightest desires burn

by daemon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Falling In Love, Getting Together, M/M, Reincarnation, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-18 11:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16994127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemon/pseuds/daemon
Summary: He knows it in his bones that he's been in this moment before, trapped in uncertainty and aching for his bravery to bereal.(Keith and Shiro have met before, Keith just doesn't knowwhen.)





	on this night our brightest desires burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LogicDive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicDive/gifts).



> this was an old gift for kai.
> 
> fun fact, i've never written this pairing before, go me. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> (reposting bc i found it again and bc the s8 ending made me kinda salty and i don't even _go here_.)

This is what he knows in this moment, between one breath and the next:

That he's been here before, with this hand on his neck and those gray eyes glinting silver in the dark boring into his. That this desert was the beginning and the end, that the drafty innards of this dilapidated house held memories that he could only guess at. That he's been searching for something since the day his mother died and his father followed her. 

(He thought he found it here. Thought this strange, undefinable pull to the desert from his garage would be his answer; instead he finds _him_ —)

He knows it in his bones that he's been in this moment before, trapped in uncertainty and aching for his bravery to be _real_.

 

A year ago, a guy with a silly undercut and ponytail, a beat-up motorcycle, and a sheepish grin came into his bike shop. Keith had never seen him around town before (a tourist, joy of joys), but he recognized the make and model and set about drilling the man with his usual diagnostic questions. 

"I bought it a couple months ago off my sister's boyfriend." His eyes were grey, shining like steel in the afternoon sun, "Still a work in progress, I guess."

Quirking a brow at the guy, he dropped his eyes to the bike again and knelt down beside it, "No kidding. When did you last change the oil?"

"I... I'm not sure."

He glanced up at the wonder boy and the man looked appropriately sheepish, "Sorry, I'm still learning about small engines. Honestly, I'm better at flying than driving."

Keith eyed the dubious amount of viscous fluid when he checked it, "I can see that."

Laughter bubbled up from his wayward customer and Keith felt his heart seize in his chest.

It felt _familiar_ somehow, to hear that laughter ringing across his shop.

 

Ten months ago, the wonder boy returned and never left. 

He picked up odd jobs around town and rented out a room in the same house as Keith, and every morning they'd run into each other on the way out. Their landlord, Mr. Coran, thought it was the funniest thing, and tried often to make excuses for his boarding house residents to spend time together. 

If it weren't for the work that Shiro had sent his way, he would have ignored the guy until he decided to leave town again.

Part of Keith wanted to be the one to go first, wanted to walk away from this and leave it behind, because this _feeling_ kept growing in his chest every time Shiro _smiled_ at him like that. The way moonlight glinted silvery from his eyes, the weird birthmark across the bridge of his nose so familiar he could almost feel the contours of it beneath his fingertips— it felt like there was a phantom ache inside of him, clawing out of his ribcage and reaching for Shiro whenever the other was near.

It terrified him, made him angry, made him break the careful, aloof facade he'd cultivated since moving to this small town at the edge of an ancient desert. 

(Because at first, it was the _desert_ that sang to him; now it the vastness of it echoed with a new song and the melody of it danced around Shiro as he walked across the room or met Keith's eyes, or laughed where Keith could hear him. Shiro, who was as ever, unaware of the warzone inside Keith's head.)

 

(Six months ago, Shiro asked for a kiss.

Keith surprised himself when he kissed _first_.)

 

This is what he knows in this moment, between one breath and the next:

That there is more to this _ghost_ in his lungs than he thinks. That it makes him feel as if he's known Shiro all his life. That he's been running for a long time and it's only fitting that he feels like he's sinking beneath the sands the longer Shiro looks at him.

( _He used to feel like he was drowning in mercury, dissolving to naught but his soul whenever Shiro looked at him and smiled at him and kissed him_ —)

Keith gasps when the _memory_ flashes inside his head again and Shiro closes the distance at last.

 

( _"Defenders of the Universe, huh? Sounds a bit much."_

 _"So are you."_  
  
_"Saying you can't handle me anymore, Shirogane?"_

_"Who else could if not me, Kogane?"_

_"We'll see about that."_ )

 

In a decaying, sand-blasted shack in the middle of _their_ desert, they lay on a spread blanket with starlight filtering in between the slats left of the roof. Facing each other, the cool night air caressing their skin as they touch and explore, there is nothing but sense memory here. Between passioned kisses and cravings fulfilled; between the heart-stopping rush of _I know this, I know you_ ; there is a lack of space between their bodies, the slide of skin slick with sweat and hot as a brand on their bones, and _this_ —

( _They've done this before, under alien skies and on alien planets_.)

 _"I found you— I found you—"_ Shiro croaks between kisses and hands raking desperate in his hair.

Keith's own roam Shiro's chest, his sides, tracing his ribcage and memorizing every mark and dip and scar-turned-birthmark from another lifetime. His nails drag along Shiro's spine and the other man shudders in his arms, kissing him with fervor, pushing into him harder—

 _"I know. I'm here."_ Keith whispers, every word broken and hopeful, _"We're home again."_

 

(This is what Shiro knows in this moment, between one kiss and the next:

The universe gave them another chance. Gave them a life free of fate. Gave them freedom to _be_. Gave them hope for a future that could never be _stolen_ from them.

Shiro feels it in his bones, this marrow-deep _need_ for the man in his arms. He knows with every kiss and touch and look and call of his name on reddened lips that Keith knows this too.)

 

 

It takes _time_.

Time to feel their way around each other. Time to separate the ghosts of _before_ from the feelings of _now_. Time for Keith to remember he has nothing to hide and no need for secrets. Time for Shiro to broaden his smiles and open his guarded heart.

Sometimes, it's the nightmares that hurt them the worst. The sensations, phantoms in their skin and old scars that aren't scars anymore.

Sometimes it's kisses at midnight, given and taken under star-choked skies. Sand doesn't always give when they fall upon in, when Shiro's knees buckle from the fierce way Keith kisses him, when Keith follows him down and snakes arms around his neck just to deepen every mesh of lips and tongue.

Yes, it takes a little time; for they to carve out a niche for each other in the other's life. They don't have to carve out much, just soften the edges and they slot together perfectly.

They remember a little more with each passing year, dreams and memories blurring together so intimately that trying to find the middle ground is pointless. They let it be, because what else could they do? 

This is the life they'd hoped for. A second chance. It's a feeling they know in their bones; so carefully laced with their insides, stitched into their flesh, flooding their marrow. 

It takes _time_ , and a little effort, and a few tears, to find their balance. Their little universe stops tilting dangerously, the stars in their eyes are brighter, and they relearn every constellation burned in their skin from lifetimes before.

It takes time, but they make it. 

( _They fucking made it_.)

.


End file.
